Anniversary of the Shipwreck of the New York at Half Moon Bay (the long version) Part I

Anniversary of the Shipwreck of the New York at Half Moon Bay (the longer version) Part I

Sailors all over the world were familiar with the iron ship New York’s shady past—but her builder intended a much grander future for the experimental vessel.

As the second iron ship built in the U.S. in 1883, she was launched with great promise on the Delaware River. Originally called the T.F. Oakes, her champagne christening was good enough for a celebrity going on a voyage, the sea of waving white lace handkerchiefs, cheers and more cheers and the shrill steam whistles.

The Oakes wasn’t the only celebrity. Her 42-year-old builder, the naval hero Henry Honeychurch Gorringe, was already famous—having masterminded in 1880 the transfer by steamer of “Cleopatra’s Needleâ€?, a 200-ton obelisk from Alexandria, Egypt to New York’s Central Park.

Heading up the American Shipbuilding Company, Gorringe planned to build ships of the future, not of wood, but iron—modern vessels competitive with the profitable foreign shipbuilders.

But the Oakes was a flawed vessel. Engineering errors and a reduction in speed caused by the “foulingâ€? of her iron bottom caused the Oakes to become known as a “sailing trampâ€?, unable to match the competition. Gorringe’s company produced more iron ships but incompetence and an excess payroll drained remaining resources, pushing him into bankruptcy. Less than two years after the launching of the Oakes, Henry H. Gorringe died from injuries suffered in a freakish fall from a train.

By 1893 experts found it easy to predict that the Oakes would set a new record for the slowest passage from New York to San Francisco. The fastest run over the route took 111 days; the Oakes took an embarrassing 195 days.

Three years later the ship was many months late on a voyage from Hong Kong to New York. More than 259 days after beginning her voyage, the “mystery shipâ€? hobbled into New York harbor, towed by the British oil tanker Kasbek. Several skippers whooped for joy, tossing their caps into the air, but other spectators were saddened at the sight.

Only 18 of the original 24-member crew survived the long voyage; scurvy, a Vitamin C deficiency, left them unable to walk without help. A strict federal law required all vessels to carry a variety of food, water and lemon juice, but the Oakes, out in the turbulent seas for more than a year, had long since run out of provisions.

Combative weather, including the terrific force of a four-day typhoon, thrust the ship, captained by Edward Reed, far off its course. Partially disabled by a paralytic stroke, Captain Reed depended upon his wife, Mary, to give commands to the crew. Since he realized the Oakes was slow anyway, Reed chose to sail by way of Cape Horn to New York, thousands of miles further than the regular route via the Cape of Good Hope..

…To be continued….

Is this the “wedding cake” mansion?

Is this the James L. Flood mansion that once stood in Menlo Park? Flood was one of the famous “silver kings”, and with his riches he built a mansion that observers said resembled layers of a wedding cake. I haven’t had time to compare this photo with actual pictures of the Flood mansion…..

108th Anniversary: Shipwreck of the New York

On Sunday, March 13, 1898, the iron ship T.F. Oakes–a vessel so tainted with bad luck that it was renamed the “New York” to ward off evil spirits—fulfilled its destiny, losing its way– surrendering to the pull of the waves rushing it toward the beach at Half Moon Bay, the ship’s final resting place.

During the “New York’s” last hours at sea, the local townspeople gathered on the beach, some of them carrying whiskey, watching the silhouette of the ship struggle to live, to get back on course– ultimately a hopeless challenge.

Knowing the outcome, the people of Half Moon Bay built a huge bonfire, and brought food and warm clothes for the survivors who came ashore with the help of the locals forming a “human chain” from shore- to- ship. (The Chinese cook injured his leg and the first mate, already ill with a cold, later died at a San Francisco hospital).

On its maiden voyage as the “New York” the ship was sailing from Shanghai and Hong Kong to San Francisco, its cargo an exotic mix of carved dark furniture and cloisonné—tea and firecrackers.

On board was kindly Captain Thomas Peabody, his sweet wife, Claire, and precocious daughter, Clara, who, in 1950, penned “Singing Sailsâ€?, the memory of her adventures aboard the doomed vessel–a book you can find in the archives of the San Mateo County History Museum at Redwood City. Just as the name of the ship had been changed from the T.F. Oakes to the New York, the new owners sought to cover all the angles by carefully choosing a benevolent captain. The Peabodys projected the image of a fairy tale family, surely able to thwart any lingering evil spirits.

Souvenirs from the shipwreck of the New York were proudly displayed in Half Moon Bay homes, a memory of one of the Coastside’s most exciing events.

Kid Zug in Pescadero: Part IV

In 1919 a battered and bruised Frank Goularte, the 40-year-old son of the Pescadero blacksmith, was anxious to talk to the authorities about the beating he had received from Kid Zug– the recent winner of the highly anticipated outdoor bout with “Happy” Frey, son of the village bartender and constable.

“I was on my way to a dance,” Goularte began. “Before going there I stopped at San Gregorio to get a shave and when I left the shop,” the blacksmith’s son said he was suddenly, violently assaulted by Kid Zug. He intended to bring charges against the pugilist.

When he appeared before the Justice of the Peace in Redwood City, a wounded and angry Frank Goularte charged Zug with battery. A trial date was set and the Kid appeared before a jury in November 1919.

The evidence presented at trial definitely proved that the attack had occurred–but the jury believed Zug’s version of events, citing that his actions were defensible and justifiable. They were convinced that Goularte had directed slurs at Zug and made a move that looked as if he were about to draw for a gun. Kid Zug was acquitted of all the charges.

Insiders guessed at the truth: Frank Goularte was an important witness in the murder investigation involving the death of Sarah Coburn, a wealthy Pescadero widow. He lived across the street from Sarah, and on the night of her murder, had observed the comings and goings of possible suspects. His testimony could prove to be devastating to Zug’s employer–believed to have played a pivotal role in the slaying.

Some folks in the know believed the beating Kid Zug administered to the blacksmith’s son was a clear message to Goularte to keep his mouth shut.

Perhaps Zug’s influential employer was responsible for suppressing the murder invesstigation and having the whole matter dumped into a permanent cold case file.

By 1920 few people were even talking about the murder case.

Kid Zug quietly packed up his few belongings and left the Swanton House and Pescadero forever.

The END

Remembering Bill Doerner

At left: Me, Bill Doerner and Reporter Dick Thompson.
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Bill Doerner was a writer for Time magazine in New York before he was sent out West to take over as head of the San Francisco news bureau—just as AIDS began to decimate the gay community and when angioplasty was becoming a popular option for clogged arteries and the two Steves, Jobs and Wozniak, had built the clunky looking Apple II.

I worked for Bill. I was the news bureau’s office manager,a temporary position, until the “regularâ€? office manager returned from maternity leave.

Bill wasn’t the warmest of people or the most fun. He could make you feel very uncomfortable because I think he felt uncomfortable. He seemed a tad snotty—but beneath all that I discovered a deeply kind man.

When he made the move to the City—which proved to be as temporary as my stint as the office manager– Bill Doerner left behind the excitement of Manhattan, an apartment on West 70th Street and a weekend place in East Hampton.

He’d been born in Missouri in 1941 and spent his entire life in the news business, beginning his career in St. Louis.

Being a writer and a bureau chief require a different set of skills– like morphing from an introvert to an extrovert. To me, the former describes Bill’s personality. More inside than outside. (Some of Time’s bureau chiefs are the stuff of legend and Bill Doerner did not fit into that category—I’m thinking in particular of the bureau chief Bill was replacing, a beloved but wild fellow everybody soley missed).

But San Francisco began to work its magic and I could tell Bill was falling in love with his new home. One day he asked me what it means if a guy wears one earring….and he wanted to know, what does it mean if he wears it on the left versus the right ear….You know, I knew the answer but I just couldn’t remember so we had a good laugh, me terribly flustered the whole time, wishing I could give him the definitive cultural explanation—but he got the idea.

Another time it was Bill’s day off when he called me at the office. His voice sounded shaky; he told me he had just been through a terrifying experience. Bill had gone to purchase some items at a discount store when a robber with a gun ordered all of the patrons to lie down on the floor, and he was one of them—thoughts racing through his mind as he heard "and don’t move or I’ll shootâ€?.

Hard as I tried, I couldn't imagine Bill in that situation.

After I went on a whale watching trip, sailing out of Pillar Point Harbor, here on the Coastside, I wrote a story called, “Watching Whale Partsâ€?. Why did I give it that title? Because that’s all I saw from the boat, parts of whales, never the entire mammal. I asked Bill to read it and he liked the story, calling it “surrealâ€?, and encouraging me to submit it to a publication.

Bill Doerner was a terrific writer, admired in the news bureau as one of the first to write about the AIDS epidemic in the City.

His stay in San Francisco was brief and one day he returned to the Time-Life Building in New York City. I can’t say that I kept in regular contact with Bill, but every couple of years, or so, I’d send a Christmas card with an update. I was both pleased and surprised that he always answered my notes, usually with a one-page typed letter—and he always showed interest in my writing.

In the spring of 1994, a decade after I worked for him, Bill completely rearrange his life. “…I am currently a person of leisure,â€? he wrote, “with more reading on my hands….The late nights and deadlines, as well as a changing corporate atmosphere since the merger, finally began taking their toll.â€?

After 27 years with Time he had taken an early retirement.

And of the future: “I’m planning to pretty much take the summer off in East Hampton, where I have a weekend place, and then decide where to try to go from here—a part-time job, perhaps, or free-lancing?? I just don’t know at this point.â€?

The next Christmas he wrote, “ I’m still thoroughly enjoying post-TIME life,â€? adding that , “Mostly I’m doing things I never had time to do over the years, like gardening at my weekend place out on Long Island. I’ve also done a bit of free-lance writing. But nothing major.â€?

I didn’t send another card until after 9/11. When I received his response, the first thing I noticed was a different return address. Not New York, but Missouri. Also this short note wasn’t typed but handwritten.

He said that my letter caught up with him "in St. Louis (or a suburb of) where I grew up and to which I have retired to live. I left N.Y. just three days before the WTC tragedy…..â€?

A year or so passed, and I remembered that I had taken photographs of Bill at a San Francisco restaurant where the news bureau staff was celebrating his birthday. I now owned a scanner. I could blow up the old prints, I thought, and he might get a kick out of seeing them. Maybe he never even saw them before. I mailed the best of the pictures to Bill's Missouri address but this time there was no response.

It didn't go unnoticed.

In March a letter arrived from Bill Doerner’s sister. She wrote: “…My brother had been in declining health for the past six or seven years. His heart just gave out. I thought you would want to be aware of his death.â€? She had no idea who I was but she referred to the photos I had sent, adding that she didn’t know if her brother had seen the pictures.

I hope he did.

William (“Billâ€?) R. Doerner
Date of Birth: January 31, 1941
Date of Death: March 15, 2003

Kid Zug: Part III

It’s true that Kid Zug’s boxing skills were a shadow of what they had been 35 years earlier—and that his opponent, “Happyâ€? Frey had a big-mouth—but for the boys in the village of Pescadero, a boxing match with world champ Abe Attell could not have brought them more excitement.

Details of the 1918 event remain sketchy but as the day of the fight drew near people came from all around.

When the moment finally arrived, the combatants entered the ring and the crowd was breathless. Kid Zug was stone-faced and silent. Happy Frey was clearly nervous and ringsiders wondered if either fighter was sober.

The referee spoke to them for a moment and signaled for the bell to start the fight.

Both boxers were tentative. Zug kept his hands high to protect his scarred face. Happy’s inexperience quickly presented an opening for the Kid who launched a solid right cross which staggered Happy and knocked out several of his teeth.

The fight was over.

Although the ending was unexpected, the stunned crowd seemed satisified with the outcome—especially those that had bet on the Kid.

Zug’s ability to strike so swiftly at his advanced age amazed everyone.

Pescaderans would never forget the short boxing match on San Gregorio Street.

But a year later, in the summer of 1919, a brutal murder occurred in Pescadero. It ws a seamy case involving the slaying of a wealthy, elderly widow—and all bets were that the people Zug worked for had something to do with it.

Around this time it was report4d that Zug fell ill with pneumonia. In Pescadero many villagers were coming down with the dreaded “Spanishâ€? flu, the post-World War I influenza pandemic that took the lives of millions worldwide.

Some insiders suspected that Zug’s illness might have presented a perfect cover to get him out of town during the murder investigation.

For weeks the Kid was confined to a hospital room in San Mateo. As soon as he recovered, to everyone’s astonishment, Zug was back on the wooden sidewalks of Pescadero, intimidating and menacing.

Not long after returning to town, Zug faced real trouble. According to official court testimony and leaks to the local press, he was a major principle in an assault case. On a late Saturday night in September 1919 the lightweight pugilist was accused of badly beating 40-year-old Frank Goularte, the 190-pound son of the Pescadero blacksmith. In the melee, Goularte suffered two black eyes, a fractured nose and bruises on his face and head.

While he was being patched up, authorities questioned Frank Goularte.

….To be continued

Galen Wolf & Family

Young Coastside artist Galen Wolf (at far left, cranking up the machine) with his family in front of their home in downtown Half Moon Bay, circa 1912.

Trudi remembers: “Linked onto your site while searching for info on Galen Wolf. He was a dear family
friend. As a child I remember driving over on 92 to visit this kind man. We would
bring him Neopolitan icecream and I loved how his studio smelled of paint and
canvas. We’d play in the creek behind his house while the adults visited. It was
wonderful.”

This unsigned watercolor of Devil’s Slide was painted by Galen Wolf or one of his students.